


Juniper

by DarkShadeless



Series: A Wreath of Wild Flowers [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: A Halloween story, Creepy, The Dark Side of the Force, sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 22:58:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16481363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: It happened again. Something must be done.





	Juniper

_ Juniper _ _:_

_A coniferous plant of the cypress family. Oft hardy, it will grow at great heights and on rocky ground, though it may be found in woodlands as well. The berries have medicinal qualities. Juniper is sometimes mistaken for a weed._

_In the realm of plant meanings the most preeminent one of this tenacious specimen is that of protection. As a gift it conveys ‘I will keep you safe’._

 

 

< >  < >

 

 

It has happened again. Just this morning, in fact.

Old man Joro walked past while Talula was trying to convince her daughter to give solid food a try. Little Min, as enthused with mashed arooba root as ever, batted it right out of her mother’s hand.

The bowl clipped the old man harshly enough to send him to the ground.

There’s no doubt that Min is of On’Chaka’s blood, most powerful of the Great Names of the last generation. She will be a fine warrior someday, or a fine witch, maybe even Chief, whatever she sets her mind to once she grows out of her crib.

If she doesn’t level their whole settlement before that day comes.

The headblind know better than to make a fuss about their Force-touched brethren but their unease grows with every incident. It hangs in the air like a dark cloud, heavy with rain.

They are right to fear. Something needs to be done, for their safety and the safety of the child. Nothing good will come of it if little Min reaches too far, too soon. Chastising her will help nothing. She’s but a half year and barely that, too young to understand self-control.

No. Her family will have to take her hand and help her in this, as is their responsibility.

“Come, Maju. The sun is rising higher by the second. It’s time we leave.”

“Of course, elder.”

The way is far and fraught with danger. Still they must make the distance and before the next moonless night, all the way across the Whispering Wood and into the marshes beyond. Only in the very depths of them, where the ground bleeds black, have they a chance to find what they seek.

Elder Hiatoya grips her staff tighter. A long way, indeed. Best get to it.

 

< >  < >

 

They make camp for the last time not a week later, at the edge of the marsh. From here on out the ground grows treacherous. They’ll have to make do.

Diligently, Maju stokes their small fire and prepares their meal. As deeply as the power runs in their venerable elder, Hiatoya is nearing her ninetieth cycle. A journey like this one is no small feat.

Thankfully the nights are still balmy. Even in summer the winds of their homeworld are wilful creatures, wild and free. They’ll tear a carelessly built house apart just for the fun of it. Maju breathes in the crisp air and quietly gives her thanks to their fickle companions.

Thanks, so they’ll remain as placid as they have been. Quietly, so they may stay undisturbed and not pay her undue notice. It’s always better for one like her to keep her head down. Those with the gift, the ones who see and hear and run like the wind, their eyes are on the horizon, their hearts beat for more than just themselves and they fear nothing.

Maju is happy to serve their family and remain unnoticed.

“Would you like a bowl of porridge, elder? I found a few sweetberries on the road.”

“Yes, thank you.” Hiatoya smiles at her, her face as wrinkled as an old rag. “You’re a good child.”

“Thank you, elder.”

She will serve. That’s who she is.

 

< >  < >

 

The marsh itself is not so bad, only very wet and getting wetter with every step. Soon enough Hiatoya has to take the lead, seeing more with her milky eyes than Maju ever could. What wonders is she ignorant to? What terrors?

Speculation is futile. She does not have the power, never did. It did not wake in her. Considering what set them on this path, mayhap that is for the best.

Night falls and they do not rest. With a resolute knock of her staff, Hiatoya ignites it in green witchfire and lights the way. “Keep close now, child. Don’t go astray.”

For a while Maju wonders why she would. Not for long, though. Soon enough pale sparks start to dance over the still waters and the shadows move of their own accord. The ground under their feet is lightsucking black. It’s possible that the small sliver that remains of the moon is not enough to give it color but…

Best not think of it. One foot in front of the other.

Hiatoya leads her through the night, past dancing lights and hulking figures in the distance. The gifted are fierce and wild and free and all must bow to their might, but under their watch what belongs to them may well be untouchable.

Maju has leaned into that strength her whole life. She serves and she is protected. That is the way of things.

It’s no hardship. How silly would it be to think that way?

Maju may carry the pack, heavy with supplies but without her elder’s light she would be lost. And if Hiatoya did not have her, who would carry her pack for her? This is how it has been for as long as their family can remember and their memories reach far. Their ancestors whisper to them, to the ones who can hear. They give their gifts of guidance and even beyond death they serve, just as Maju serves Hiatoya.

 

< >  < >

 

Morning dawns upon a desolate land. As far as Maju can see the watery earth is blackened and rotten. A foul stench hangs in the air. They have reached their destination.

In the heart of the Shadowmarsh nothing draws breath but the two of them. All that comes here must die, all but those with the gift and the wit to use it well. In Hiatoya’s hand her staff gleams.

“Take my hand, child. Whatever happens, don’t let go.”

Her fingers are bony, gnarled with age but warm. Maju curls her own around them and holds on tight.

Out of the corner of her eye she almost thinks she can see… things. Creatures. They have the strangest shapes, from little furry critters to humungous blobs of featureless vapour. Something about them makes the hair on the back of Maju’s neck stand on end.

They make no sound but she knows they are searching. They _hunger_.

Maju keeps her eyes on Hiatoya’s staff and does not look their way.

 

< >  < >

 

When they find what Hiatoya was looking for it is rather unremarkable. The elder hums, pleased, and kneels in the dirt before the small, whispy shadow. The only thing that makes it stand out is that there is nothing to throw it. Just the shadow, fluttering in the breeze.

“Put the pack down child. You deserve some rest.”

With a relieved huff Maju does as she is told. After days of travel her back aches with the weight of it. Hiatoya pats her knee in invitation. She doesn’t have to offer twice.

Despite where they are and what brought them here, Maju finds she can close her eyes once her elder’s fingers are carding through her hair. In Hiatoya’s hands she is safe, come what may.

“ _Sleep.”_

And she does.

She doesn’t even wake for the blade, gently drawn across her throat.

 

< >  < >

 

Maju’s lifeblood floods the mud in streaks of crimson. The flickering shadow grows with the influx of death.

The Dark is strong here already, in this focal point, so strong it calls up creatures like this one.

Rightly, it shouldn’t be called a creature at all. A knot in the Force, the bunched-up fabric of creation given form through intent. ‘ _Consume,_ ’ the power whispers in Hiatoya’s ear ‘ _Feast. Hunger.’_

Given time this little one would grow. It would follow the call that would be instinct in something with more than a half-life, gorge itself on the corruption it was born from and in doing so the Dark would grow less.

All nature seeks balance.

Under her hand Maju has grown still. Such a sweet child, dutiful to the end.

The shadow darkens and with a flick of her wrist Hiatoya calls Maju’s beltpouch to her hand. Inside she finds just what she needs.

No one but Maju has touched this thing. Sewed from clothes she wore, stuffed with herbs and down from birds she killed with her own hand. The thread, woven from her hair. The twinkling red button eyes, that she braved the crystal groves for, to pick the one stone she liked the best.

She made the doll in her image and now her death will give it life.

Carefully, Hiatoya catches hold of the power in the air, the power Maju spilled into her cupped palms all in red, and draws the lines. To catch, to hold, to bind. To entice.

_Come little shadow. Find your new home._

Slowly, the wisp comes unmoored. It drifts closer and closer, moving faster with the shrinking distance, as any predator would. The promise of a meal draws it in, its first, its only, and _it has always been hungry, there has never been a time when it wasn’t starving-_

With not so much a sound as the absence of one the trap closes around its victim.

Gently Hiatoya inspects the doll. It answers the press of her mind with a tentative push.

“Hello little one.”

HeLLo.

“Yes, hello.”

hEllO. HElLo. heLLo?

“Don’t worry, you will learn.”

She should be going. It was a long journey and it will be longer now that she has to make it alone.

 

< >  < >

 

Elder Hiatoya returns on the fifteenth day. When she places the worrydoll in Min’s crib the buzz the air has carried since the babe first took offense at something fiercely enough to make the world bend to her will in answer grows quieter.

“And all will be well now?” Talula frets. Much as she puts on a brave front for her daughter, she does fear. Not her but for her. For them all.

“All will be well.”

In the crib Min curls pudgy fingers into the soft cloth of the doll. Its eyes glitter in the dark.

 

_A gift made by ( **from** ) a dutiful child. A shell created to catch ( **leash** ) a monster. A companion, always ( **hungry** ) seeking affection._

 

Min sleeps and Patchouli keeps watch.

They will be the _best_ of friends.

 

< >  < >


End file.
